


Fais de Beaux Rêves

by eirenical (chibi1723)



Series: Fais de Beaux Rêves [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: Aromantic, Asexual Character, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Queerplatonic Relationships, Sickfic, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 13:50:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2775362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi1723/pseuds/eirenical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I feel like I've spent my whole life fighting to convince people that there's nothing wrong with me, that it's not just a matter of 'finding the right person'.  And if what I feel for you <i>is</i> different…  If it is l--"  Courfeyrac cut himself off and when he finally continued, his last words were said so quietly that Feuilly had to strain to hear them.  "…I feel like I'd be betraying my entire identity and everything I've fought for if I admit that it might be."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fais de Beaux Rêves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [onlyacoffee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyacoffee/gifts).



> **_December 14, 2014:_** So... I was doing this [headcanon meme](http://eirenical.tumblr.com/post/105199448524/this-meme-makes-me-emotional) over on tumblr and discovered very quickly that I suck at headcanons. I really do. Every time I try to headcanon, I end up ficcing. -.-;;; So, I gave up and gave in and started using the meme as a prompt meme instead. And [ravenclawfeuilly](http://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyacoffee/) sent me this word for Feuilly and the fic kind of... got away from me. *snerts* So. Without further ado...
> 
> [tumblr post](http://eirenical.tumblr.com/post/105236207252/if-youre-still-doing-them-feuilly-16).

"But... why are you here?" Feuilly struggled to push himself upright, only stopping when a harsh cough interrupted his efforts. He let himself drop back onto his pillows, his hand lifting to cover his mouth and his body curling futilely inward in an attempt to keep the cough from jarring already sore muscles.

Courfeyrac winced, reached out to smooth a gentle hand down Feuilly's back. "You weren't at the meeting and you said you'd be there. Enjolras was worried." He frowned. "And it looks like he was right to be."

That wasn't really an answer though, was it? Feuilly was too wrapped up in coughing to be able to steal breath to ask the obvious question, but he rolled an eye up to meet Courfeyrac's, hoping he would understand anyway.

Courfeyrac offered Feuilly a small smile. "He wanted to come. He did. But he's taking the bar exam tomorrow. We shouldn't have even held the meeting this week, but you know Enjolras." 

The coughing spasm finally eased and In between shallow wheezing breaths, Feuilly nodded. He did know Enjolras. And that was exactly why they'd held the meeting -- the distraction would have been bound to do him some good and take his mind off the upcoming exam. But to save Enjolras from staying up all night studying just for him to stay up nursing a sick friend all night wouldn't have been any better. And he would have done it. Without a second thought. But that wasn't an answer to the question, either. Feuilly finally got in enough breath to ask again, "Yes... but why are _you_ here?" Jehan would have been a more sensible choice. Calm in a crisis and with a natural bedside manner, he was one of the few people that even Enjolras could handle having around when he was sick. Not that Courfeyrac's presence wasn't soothing -- it was -- but... wasn't he sitting the bar tomorrow, too? Feuilly felt another coughing fit coming on and just managed to get out that last question before it overtook him. 

Courfeyrac's only answer was to blush, then gently help Feuilly upright so that he could lean against him. The change in position eased the pressure in his chest and the cough eased off with it. When it was over, he let Courfeyrac pull him into a more comfortable position, both of them leaning against the headboard, legs outstretched in front of them. Feuilly turned, looked pointedly in Courfeyrac's direction. Courfeyrac's cheeks colored again, but this time there was an added mumble, "It's just a test." As Feuilly's eyebrows shot up into his hairline, Courfeyrac hastened to add, "I've passed tests on no sleep, hung over and still half drunk from the night before, and with more coffee in my veins than blood. I'll be fine. Enjolras needs the sleep more than I do."

Feuilly could all but feel the words left unspoken, the thrum of an emotion so tightly leashed that it was almost choking them both. There was only one way that Enjolras would have let himself be pushed off, exam or no exam -- not for his own sake... only for a friend's. So, while it might be true that Enjolras needed the sleep more than Courfeyrac... it was also true that Courfeyrac needed to be here more than Enjolras did.

...but why?

Feuilly forced himself a little further upright, motioned for Courfeyrac to hand him the glass of water on the night table. Once he'd taken a drink, he turned back to look at Courfeyrac. This cough was obnoxious, true. But he wasn't running a fever, wasn't achy in any way except from the cough itself. He didn't need a nursemaid. He'd have been fine on his own. There was no reason for either Enjolras _or_ Courfeyrac to lose sleep the night before a major exam. And yet here Courfeyrac was… and now he wasn't even meeting Feuilly's gaze, his eyes ducking away every time Feuilly caught him looking.

There was only one reason Feuilly could think of that would account for all of those things. Reaching out a hand, Feuilly took Courfeyrac's gently in his, and said, "I thought… I thought you don't do this."

Courfeyrac's answer was prompt and accompanied by a frown and a slight tightening of his hand on Feuilly's. "I don't. I… I don't."

 _Then **why**?_ Feuilly thought. They'd danced around this once before. Feuilly liked Courfeyrac -- everyone liked Courfeyrac. It was hard not to. And Courfeyrac liked everyone, saw good and worth in everyone he came across. But that was all. He didn't date. He didn't do relationships. And he only rarely ever had sex. Feuilly was afraid he'd embarrassed himself forever when Courfeyrac finally pulled him aside last year, after months of playing oblivious to his awkward attempts at flirting, and bluntly explained that, but Courfeyrac didn't hold grudges, either. He never held an honest misunderstanding against a person. So Feuilly had buried his interest, not wanting to make Courfeyrac uncomfortable. But if that was done and buried… then what was this?

Courfeyrac's next words were quiet, nearly a plea. "Can't… can't I just want to take care of a friend who's sick?" He looked up, his eyes more conflicted than Feuilly could ever remember them being. He said, "I like you. I've always liked you. I… can't that be enough?"

Unspoken were the words: Why _isn't_ that ever enough?

Feuilly tightened his grip on Courfeyrac's hand, pulled it close and cradled it to his chest as he fought off another coughing fit. It _was_ enough. Feuilly had worked hard to convince himself of that, because the last thing he wanted was to hurt Courfeyrac because his own stupid feelings didn't know how to quit. Courfeyrac seemed to have an endless supply of love to share and Feuilly counted himself lucky to get whatever percentage of it Courfeyrac saw fit to give him. But sometimes… like tonight… Feuilly caught this look in Courfeyrac's eyes. It was a look that seemed to say that Courfeyrac wished he could give him more. And that look broke his heart… because Feuilly knew that it had to be Courfeyrac's almost desperate need to see his friends happy that had prompted him to even consider trying to give Feuilly more than he had it in him to give.

When this last coughing fit finally passed, Feuilly was tucked securely into the circle of Courfeyrac's arms, trembling slightly with exhaustion, his face pressed into the crook of Courfeyrac's neck. He took a minute to regain his breath, then pushed himself upright once more, still clutching Courfeyrac's hand. His voice starting to rasp from all the coughing, he said softly, "Of course, it's enough. I wouldn’t ask of you any more than you're willing to give. Not ever. But this… feels different. And I don't want to read it wrong and cross a line that I don't know is there, but… Courfeyrac… you know you can change your mind, right?"

It was the wrong thing to say. Feuilly knew it the minute the words were out of his mouth, and he'd never have said it if his brain wasn't so addled from all the coughing. He cursed softly as Courfeyrac tensed beside him, an unhappy frown crossing his face. A moment later, Courfeyrac pushed himself off the bed, grabbed Feuilly's empty glass and padded down the hall with it. The minute he was gone, Feuilly _did_ curse, long and creatively.

When Courfeyrac returned, he had not only the full glass of water, but a bottle of NyQuil, as well. Feuilly frowned, shook his head. He hated that stuff, hated how groggy it made him feel. Courfeyrac merely raised an eyebrow at him, waiting, patient. Feuilly held his gaze for barely ten seconds before ducking his head and holding out his hand. If this was a punishment for that thoughtless comment, it was a fair one, especially because the one this punishment would help was Feuilly. And the thought of getting any sleep, no matter how groggy he would feel the next day… Feuilly was starting to think it was worth it. Courfeyrac handed over the cup of dark red liquid without a word. It tasted just as awful going down as Feuilly remembered, and he shuddered, nearly gagged on the last swallow. Courfeyrac took the little cup back, exchanged it for the glass of water, and Feuilly drank it down gratefully.

Courfeyrac left the room again and, when he returned, he placed the rinsed medicine cup down on the night table beside the NyQuil. He paused then, staring down at Feuilly long enough that Feuilly felt his face start to heat. Finally Courfeyrac sighed and motioned him to move over. As Feuilly moved, Courfeyrac kicked off his shoes and his jeans, unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off, too. Clad in only his tee-shirt and boxers, he slid into bed next to Feuilly and held his arms open. They needed to talk. Feuilly knew that. But the undertow of the medicine was strong and kicking in fast and he barely managed to mumble an "I'm sorry" as he sunk into Courfeyrac's open arms.

Courfeyrac's chest lifted and lowered in a deep sigh, and his arms tightened around Feuilly. He said softly, "There's nothing to forgive. I… Feuilly… I admire you. You're as passionate as I am for our cause, but you channel it so much more productively. And you're kind. And you give _so much_. You…" Another sigh, this one hitching just a little at the end. "I like you. I like you so much more than 'like.' I… I don't know what that means. And I wish…" His voice trailed off for a minute before returning. "I wish so much that I could love you the way I know you do me. I want that so much it hurts, but…"

When Feuilly managed to tilt his head upwards to catch the look on Courfeyrac's face, nothing could have convinced him that Courfeyrac was anything short of abjectly miserable. Feuilly curled his fingers in the soft cotton of Courfeyrac's tee-shirt and finished for him, "…but you don't."

When Courfeyrac spoke, his voice was full of just as much misery as his face had been. "…I don't know. And that terrifies me." He swallowed hard. "I feel like I've spent my whole life fighting to convince people that there's nothing wrong with me, that it's not just a matter of 'finding the right person'. And if what I feel for you _is_ different… If it is l--" He cut himself off and when he finally continued, his last words were said so quietly that Feuilly had to strain to hear them. "…I feel like I'd be betraying my entire identity and everything I've fought for if I admit that it might be."

"I never… I'm sorry I never thought about it like that before. I didn't realize…" Feuilly said. Shivering, he curled closer to Courfeyrac, started guiltily when Courfeyrac's arms tightened around him in reassurance.

"It's OK," was the immediate response.

Feuilly pushed himself up off of Courfeyrac's chest, frowning. "No, it's not OK. I never meant to make you uncomfortable. I never wanted to hurt you. That's… that's absolutely the _opposite_ of what I want. I'll back off more. I'll… I don't know. I'll start dating someone. Anyone. I'll find someone else to love, so I'm not tempted to say anything stupid like that again. So I won't pressure you."

Courfeyrac's arms tightened again, pulled Feuilly down to rest against his chest. And since, at this point, Feuilly could fight the NyQuil or fight Courfeyrac but not both, he let himself be pulled. When Courfeyrac next spoke, his voice was as quiet and raspy as though he was the one who'd spent the night coughing. "What if… what if I don't want you to?"

Feuilly let out an undignified snort and threw a hand in the air. "Well, what _do_ you want, then?" And that vehemence was a mistake because it set off another round of coughing. This one lasted a good four minutes. Every time Feuilly thought he was about to get his breath back, another spasm would start. When that fit was over, he and Courfeyrac were upright again and Courfeyrac was rubbing soothing circles into his back. Wordlessly, he handed over the glass of water and Feuilly took a drink, knowing full well that the real enemy here was dehydration. The drier he was, the more he would cough. So, though the cool water felt like shards of glass going down his throat, he would drink whatever Courfeyrac handed him to drink.

Once the glass of water had been returned to the night table and Courfeyrac had resettled them both on the pillow, he finally answered Feuilly's question -- quiet, subdued and still miserable. "I wish I knew."

This was getting them nowhere. Feuilly lifted his hand and placed it deliberately on Courfeyrac's chest. Courfeyrac turned to look at him, an eyebrow raised. Once Feuilly had his full attention, he said slowly and deliberately, "What if it doesn't matter?" Courfeyrac's eyebrow shot up, but Feuilly wasn't through. "No really. What if we could do this and have it not matter? You like me more than 'like' -- even if that's not love. I love you, which is really just an even stronger form of 'like,' right?" Courfeyrac allowed himself one cautious nod. Feuilly said, "So what difference does it make if we call it dating or friendship? So we'll split the check at restaurants. So we'll spend our time together watching movies and cooking instead of making out. You enjoy my company and I enjoy yours. So what's the harm in spending time together and just… letting it be whatever it is without trying to put a label on it?"

Courfeyrac snorted. "Now you sound like Jehan."

"Yeah, well, Jehan does have a point now and again, you know," Feuilly grumped back.

That got a laugh. "Jehan has a point a _lot_ of the time, Feuilly. It's just that sometimes it's buried so far under everything else he says that it's nearly impossible to hear."

They lapsed into silence then, and Feuilly fought against the lethargy of the cough medicine as it started to weigh him down more and more. Courfeyrac hadn't exactly given him an answer.

Just as Feuilly was about to drift off completely, Courfeyrac shifted beneath him, and Feuilly felt the heat rise in his face again when Courfeyrac pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. But that was nothing compared to the beaming smile that overtook his face a moment later when he heard Courfeyrac say, "I won't make you any promises… but I think I'd like to try."

"That's all I would ever want." Feuilly leaned up and placed a soft kiss at the corner of Courfeyrac's jaw before tucking back into him in preparation for falling asleep. And just before Feuilly drifted off on a haze of NyQuil, he heard the most beautiful words he'd ever heard emerge from Courfeyrac's lips.

"…I really do think I might love you."

And knowing exactly what it had cost Courfeyrac to say those words, and that he'd never have said them if he hadn't thought Feuilly asleep, Feuilly didn't call him on it. But those softly spoken words were the sweetest lullaby he'd ever heard, and they sent him off into dreams that were full of hope… and love.

**Author's Note:**

> This work is unbeta'ed except by me. All mistakes are my own.
> 
> The title, for those of you who are curious, means "Sweet dreams."
> 
> And if you'd like, feel free to come find me over on tumblr at [eirenical](http://eirenical.tumblr.com). I promise I don't bite! ^_^


End file.
